


An obligation to be happy

by trickztr



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Coming of Age, M/M, Photographs, Road Trip, growing up is complicated and love is a bitch, photographer!R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:57:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickztr/pseuds/trickztr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly bad argument, Grantaire simply disappears. </p><p>A collection of pictures might be the only clue to find him.</p><p>(Or a contemplative road trip AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An obligation to be happy

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a line of a [brazilian poem](http://sonhoedesrazao.tumblr.com/post/71512204213/in-todays-installment-of-all-poems-remind-me-of).

Conflict is a familiar thing to them. In six years that they've known each other, there have been all sorts of nasty disagreements - and even fights! No one ever talks about the Epic Bahorel x Combeferre fistfight of '10 -, but the one consistent thing about them as a group is that, eventually, they'll sort their differences out and meet again the following week.

Except this time Grantaire doesn't show up.

Enjolras tries not to think much of it at first. After the meeting he asks Joly if Grantaire is okay, maybe he came down with something? But Joly just looks down, nervously, and hastily says something about a last-minute freelance job that their friend couldn't get out of and quickly darts out the room.

Another meeting passes and his seat is still empty.  This time, made even worse by the fact that they'd all taken turns texting him, asking where he was and if he was okay. 

Enjolras is officially worried.

"I'm not trying to pry," he says in as levelled a ton as he can. "I'm just concerned and I want to know if he's alright." 

Bossuet sighs. "We get that, and _trust me_ , I wish I could help, but we don't know either. He literally just packed his stuff and took off in the middle of the night."

"And he hasn't even talked to you since?"

Bossuet shakes his head. "He left us an envelope with some cash, you know, his share of the rent, a note saying he was sorry, begging us to keep quiet about this and that was it. We'd figured he'd give us a call eventually, but..." 

Enjolras nods. "I see." Bites a nail. "You don't think... you don't think it might've been because of..."

"I honestly don't know. Maybe." They stay silent for a second too long before he continues. "I guess there was other stuff bothering him, but yeah. It could've been a factor."

*

The first letter comes about two weeks since his disappearance. It's addressed to Joly and Bossuet, and it's a simple note on the back of a photograph.

_"Stars are the same everywhere you go, don't let anyone fool you. Nights, on the other hand, are very different depending on where you are. Good company sure makes the difference, no matter the scenery._

_"Thought you'd like the view. The mojitos around here are killer. Hope you two get to see it before you're grey._

_"Yours truly,_

_R."_

The picture is of a beach at sunset. Sunlight bathes the ocean, the sky painted in hues of orange, pink and purple. Some people are sat on the sand, contemplating the view.

"I guess he's okay, then?" Bahorel is the first to speak. 

"Well, he's  _alive_ ," Courfeyrac concedes. "That's a start."

Enjolras wishes that was a relief.

*

The next letter arrives two days before Jehan's birthday. It's addressed to him, naturally, and contains the photograph of a gothic crypt in a cemetery. The warm beach is definitely long behind him, because the day seems gray, as if a storm was brewing above Grantaire. The texture seems gritty, too, adding another level of somber to the image.

_ "Dear Prouvaire,  _

_ It's not everyday a man turns 21. Fine age, that one. It's barely a leap til 25 and from there on... well, you'll be 40 before you know it. So just appreciate the fact that you're still young and hot while you can. _

_ Thought you'd like this one. Guy who works here said a baroness is buried here. According to the locals, she was having an affair with a married man and they agreed to kill themselves so they could together in the afterlife. Except the guy totally conned her and didn't actually go through it. Nice. _

_ So here's my birthday present for you, a life lesson: love is a dangerous, lethal thing. Avoid it at all costs. _

_ Best of wishes. Yours truly, _

_ R." _

A thick silence follows and no one talks about that particular letter after the meeting.

*

Other postcards come, all showing different scenarios and telling different stories, but all impossible to distinguish where the photos were taken. None of the letters have return addresses. Grantaire was determined not to be found and Enjolras sincerely wishes he could let it go, but none of that sat well with him.

"We already know he's fine," Combeferre argues over tea, one afternoon. "He just needs some time for himself. This has been a very difficult year for all of us, and we've all taken it differently. Maybe he just needs to unwind, shake it off."

Enjolras stirs the mug in his hands, pensive. "What if he doesn't come back? None of his letters say anything about when he's returning."

"Well, that's a possibility." Combeferre allows. Enjolras feels his heart sink. "But there's nothing much we can do about that. We've called and texted him several times. We've made it perfectly clear that we're here and worried about him. Coming back or not is his choice."

Enjolras huffs, impatiently. "I just wish I knew  _why_ he did it. Because if it was because of that fight, well then, it's stupid and immature!" Takes a sip of his coffee. "You know what? This is so typical of him. He  _always_ has to have the last word!"

"Even if it's silence?" 

Enjolras looks up at Combeferre again, but there's not a hint of malice on his features. 

"Even if it's silence," he echoes.

*

"So you're really renting his room?" Feuilly grimaces. 

"Yeah. He wrote to us earlier this week. Said he didn't he was coming back, so we might as well rent it if we hadn't already." Joly replies, upset.

"Man, this really sucks." Bahorel states the obvious. "Didn't he at least tell you where he is?"

Bossuet shakes his head. "All the letter said was to give up the room and that we shouldn't worry 'cause he was doing just fine."

"And you're okay with that?" Courfeyrac asks.

"Well,  _no_ , but what can we do?"

"Have you considered tracking the GPS on his phone? People do that all the time on TV. How hard can it be?"

It's a joke, obviously, but no one laughs. It's been a month and a half since they last saw Grantaire and it's beginning to feel like a real betrayal.

Enjolras clears his throat. "Alright, everyone, we've too much to discuss and too little time to do it in. I know we've all got a lot on our minds right now, but we got a rally to organize in less than a week, so we have to focus."

*

A letter is sent to their P.O. Box exactly two months after Grantaire's disapperance. It's not addressed to anyone in particular, and it's not a picture of a scenery, per se, but of a scene. It's a bit shaky, and shows a large group of people on a street, smoke rising from what looks like gas grenades, and police officers attacking people.

On the back, it reads:

_"These people are insane. Had to take off when tear-gas got too hard to deal with, but I know a shitton of people stayed. Six months since that kid was murdered and they're still strong. Ferguson sure is a fierce community. Bet you a million dollars that a certain someone would be jizzing his pants over this. Maybe you should come down and check these people out._

_Yours truly,_

_R."_  

"Was that an invitation?" Jehan voices Enjolras' own thought.

"First time in two months that he's given us an actual location," Bahorel points out. "I'd say so, yeah."

"So... should we go?" Joly sounds uncertain, but his eyes are hopeful.

"And go where?" Combeferre asks calmly. "We know he's in Missouri, but where exactly? It's not like he's given us an address or anything."

"Oh, my God, you old man! You're telling me that the idea of driving around a town, asking for that one black-haired, pasty-white kid that walks around with a camera does not appeal to you? What the fuck." 

Combeferre smiles at Courfeyrac's joke, but nods.

"We may know a little more than we did last week, but I'd still give it some time."

After the meeting that day, Enjolras hears Bahorel, Courfeyrac, Joly and Bossuet plan a road trip down south, but no one actually follows through with that through the course of the week.

*

A package is delivered to Enjolras on a Tuesday afternoon. It's small and light, but most importantly, it has a return address.

Enjolras tears it open with shaky hands. It contains a letter and a flash drive.

_"Ever get that feeling that you're drowning in your surroundings? Like there's escape and time's ticking by, daring you to do something about it? My mom did. She always used to say that all she ever wanted to do was start walking. Just start walking and never stop. Get as far away from everything as humanly possible._

_I used to think she was crazy. Selfish even. Oh, how the tables have turned._

_See, running has this appeal, you know? It's exciting and liberating. There's something about watching the distance between your old life and the current one growing wider that's just too addictive. The promise of freedom, I guess. You should try it, it's awesome._

_The shitty part is coming down from that high, though. You catch yourself running and running and running, but when you look back... well, it's difficult to find your way back. Know what I mean?_

_Got you a little something. It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to._

_Yours truly (no, really),_

_R."_

Enjolras quickly connects the flashdrive on his computer and doesn't realize he's holding his breath until finally,  _finally_  the drive connects and a folder pops up on his screen. It's labeled "6 Years, 8 months and 12 days".

It is, as he expected, a collection of pictures taken by Grantaire in almost seven years. A lot of them are from events organized by the Amis de l'ABC, official stuff he's done for them; others are silly selfies, and Enjolras can't help but to grin at those. One, in particular, is his favorite: Grantaire is pulling a face and Musichetta is laughing in the background. Other photos are candid pictures he's taken of their friends during meetings, the campus or just walking down the street.

A lot of them, though, are of Enjolras. Giving speeches, studying, smiling, frowning, working... pretty much any public situation they were in the same room, Grantaire's managed to capture a photo of him.

Enjolras smiles. All of the arguments, all of the contempt... six years of pubescent pining registered in a few hundred pictures. 

A part of him is still bitter, still angry that Grantaire just took off without talking things through. That it took him all of three months to man up and finally address the last argument they'd had, but a much larger part of him was soaring. Grantaire didn't hate him; hadn't run away and out of reach forever. They could still talk it over and see how things work out for them.

Grantaire had finally given him a return address.


End file.
